


Sick Days

by sky_blue_hightops



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Amanda (Detroit: Become Human) Being an Asshole, Angst, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Father-Son Relationship, Fever, Fluff, Gen, Good Parent Hank Anderson, Hank Anderson & Connor Parent-Child Relationship, Hank Anderson Adopts Connor, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Sickfic, Worried Hank Anderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 14:46:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15888183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_blue_hightops/pseuds/sky_blue_hightops
Summary: The first thing he noticed was the overhead light was off, the red of Connor’s LED bouncing around the smooth curves of the bathtub. He moved a hand to flick on the light switch but froze when Connor whimpered. “No, please-”“Is it the light?” Hank lowered his voice. “A headache, or-”“Please, please, I’m sorry!” A soft, broken sob. “I’ll better, I promise, don’t…”





	Sick Days

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt was sick!Connor and some Amanda angst thrown in there.

“CONNOR!” Hank cast a glance at the oven clock - 1:38 PM - and frowned. Late even by his standards, late enough to get him another disciplinary action to add to his ever-growing list, and Connor his very first. “WE’RE GONNA BE LATE!”

No reply. He cursed and tugged on his jacket, stomping down the hallway to knock on the the bathroom door.

Wait.

Connor  _never_  closed the bathroom door. He only used it in the mornings to style his hair. (The android was trying a new style pretty much every day. Some looked good, some….did not.)

Hank shook his head, dispelling the image of Connor with  _too much hair gel_  to return to his confusion? Concern. He banged on the door a little harder. “Ey, open up! We gotta go!”

Again, nothing. He jigged the doorknob, but it didn’t give. Worry did something painful in his chest, and he stopped to press his ear against the door.

At first he couldn’t make out anything but silence. The faucet was dripping. Then he heard it - stilted, whining breaths, barely audible, obviously painful. “Connor, you have five seconds to open this door before I bust it in!”

Rustling. The breaths pitched higher, shrill like microphone feedback. Hank winced, pulling at the door and cursing. Clearly the android wasn’t gonna open it, and there wasn’t a way to trip the lock from the outside. He exhaled, then slammed his shoulder into the space above the doorknob.

It swung open easily -  _cheap house, cheap doors_  - and hit the wall with a bang. “Connor?”

The first thing he noticed was the overhead light was off, the red of Connor’s LED bouncing around the smooth curves of the bathtub. He moved a hand to flick on the light switch but froze when Connor whimpered. “No, please-”

“Is it the light?” Hank lowered his voice. “A headache, or-”

“Please,  _please_ , I’m sorry!” A soft, broken sob. “I’ll better, I promise, don’t…”

Hank stayed frozen, for a different reason, then slowly lowered himself to crouch on the floor. Connor flinched, pressing smaller into the corner of the bathtub. His voice was reedy with shallow, fast breaths, and the worry dug deeper. “Connor, it’s me. It’s Hank, okay?”

“No, no, you don’t get to do that-” Connor’s gaze drifted to Hank, settling on a spot somewhere over the lieutenant’s shoulder. His brown eyes were unfocused, pupils blown wide. His hands remained clamped over his ears, looking all the scared little kid he was in that moment. “Stop, stop,  _get out_ -”

Hank inched closer, unsure whether to touch him or not. “Do what?”

Connor blinked, face distorted with pure anguish. “Use him against me! Leave me alone - you’re gone, please,  _please, stop_ -” His voice raised with every plea for mercy, panic lacing each word.

Hank continued to move closer, understanding dawning on him. “Connor, who am I?” He settled a hand on the rim of the bathtub, the surface cold and…slippery? He withdrew his hand to find his fingers stained blue, and the worry turned ice-cold with fear.

The android faltered at the question. “A-Amanda?” His fingers released his ears to twine with wisps of his hair, tugging lightly. “…Hank?”

Hank almost laughed with relief. “Yeah, kid, it’s me-” His words were cut off as Connor scrambled out of the tub to full-body slam into Hank’s arms. “Woah, you’re okay, I gotcha.” He let out the breath he was holding, feeling his own fear subside at the solid,  _in-one-piece_  feeling of Connor in his embrace.

“Don’t feel good,” the android stated. He pressed as close as he could to Hank’s chest, brown curls tucked firmly under Hank’s chin. “Programming glitched.”

Heat rolled off Connor’s skin in waves, even as the android’s shockingly cold fingers pulled at Hank’s sleeve. It really was too late to bother going in to work, and Hank didn’t want to leave a delirious Connor alone. “We’ll take a sick day, how about that?” Connor hummed in response, shivering. “What is this, like some android flu? Get it from one of your revolution buddies?”

“Androids equipped with protocols for…” He frowned, voice raspy with static. “Um…no remembering the word. Vulnerable. To glitches with system?”

It took Hank a moment to figure out Connor’s confused speech. “So…your realism features are… _too_  real? They got turned on?”

“Mm. Yes.” It seemed that was all the explaining he would get out off the android, so he resolved to take care of Connor now, and call Jericho in the morning. For now, he had an armful of feverish android to keep calm.

Hank remembered the thirium on his fingers. “You still need the bathroom, or do you wanna sit on the couch?”

Connor squinted, indecisive. “With bucket?”

“Yeah, with a bucket. Don’t need you making more of a mess than you normally do.” Connor, as neat as he liked to be, frequently tracked mud in or set the kitchen in disarray - obviously, he was no domestic android. Hank did all the cooking, and he could already see stirring a pot of warmed thirium in his future.  _Couch first, fluids later._

Hank helped Connor get to his feet, propping up the unsteady android by wrapping both arms around him. “C'mon. One step at a time.”

They managed to clear the bathroom and most of the hallway before Connor crumpled, legs giving out as he slumped into Hank. The lieutenant caught him under the arms, then threw caution to the wind and hoisted Connor into his arms. (His back already hated him, might as well piss it off even more.)

Connor buried his face in the space between Hank’s neck and shoulder, blue-tinged fluid leaking from his eyes and nose as he sniffed pathetically. “Really laying it on thick,” Hank commented in amusement.

Connor turned sad eyes on Hank. “Hurts. No good.”

Hank patted his back. “Yeah, I know, you don’t feel good. Gimme a few minutes and you’ll be set.” He skirted his armchair to set Connor on the couch and move to the kitchen, but the android didn’t ease his grip and instead wrapped his legs tighter around Hank. He was like a koala. A really sick, insistent koala.

“I appreciate the sentiment, kid, but you gotta let go if you want blankets.”

Connor seemed to deeply consider the concept of having blankets, brow furrowed and LED cycling yellow for a good half-minute before he acquiesced. Hank set him on the couch, ruffling his hair. “Get comfy, lemme go call Fowler and get you your blankets.”

Connor watched him go, then burrowed into the couch. It was soft but not warm, and he was very, very cold.

**WARNING: LOW THIRIUM.**

He grimaced at the drowsy feeling pulling at his limbs, still shaken up by the rather violent manner in which he had lost most of his thirium reserves. Normally he wasn’t allowed in the kitchen, but surely this was a special circumstance?

***

“Yeah. Mm hm.” Hank shifted the phone to his shoulder, hands piled high with various blankets and quilts he had scrounged together. “By…Thursday, hopefully. Yeah.”

He padded back to the living room, dropping the bundle of fabric on the couch. “Alright. Okay. Bye.” He turned to the couch, expecting six feet of miserable android, lanky limbs spread in all directions, but Connor was nowhere to be found.

That is, until the rather loud crash from the kitchen and the muffled sobs that followed. Hank cursed and jogged to the kitchen to find Connor crouched over a mess on the floor, frantically trying to both rub his eyes and wipe something up with his bare hands.

Hank pulled the towel down from where.it hung off the microwave’s handle, dropping it on the puddle of thirium and letting the rich blue soak into the brown-and-white dog pattern. “Hey, hey, relax. S'what towels are for, kiddo.” He pulled Connor up and rubbed his arms, distracting the android. “Let’s wash your hands and then you go sit back down.” He wasn’t met with any resistance; in fact, Connor seemed  _really_  out of it. He guided them to the sink and twisted on the tap, pulling Connor’s hands under the warm stream and helping him rinse off the thirium.

“Warm,” Connor murmured. He cupped the water and let it spill over his fingers, pliant as Hank scrubbed away.

“Yeah, nice ‘n warm, huh?” Satisfied, he turned off the water and -  _where were the other towels?_  “Here, wipe.” He held out the bottom of his shirt and Connor dried his hands obediently before shuffling in the direction of the living room. “Be over in a minute!” Hank called after him, then focused on the thirium-soaked rag. He’d have to replace the spilled bag later, but in the meantime he tore open a fresh one and set the pan back to rights on the burner.

Ten minutes later saw him passing Connor a thermos of thirium (he didn’t trust the android with an open mug, at least not right now) and squeezing in between Connor and the end of the couch. Sumo snored peacefully from the other end, tail lazily brushing against Connor’s legs.

Connor looked up at him, accepting the thermos with clumsy fingers. His face was flushed blue, hair sticking up at every angle. Hank reached over to comb his fingers through it, gently working through the knots.

Connor pressed up and into Hank’s hand, eyes slipping shut as he melted under the touch. He looked…young. He was just months old, Hank recalled. Something warm and fierce took hold in his chest, and he pulled the android just a little closer.

“Tired,” Connor informed him. Hank shook his head, smiling.

“Go ahead and rest.”

“Stay?”

“Of course, kid.”

**Author's Note:**

> you know how they say if you're gonna do something that's been done a million times before it better be perfect? yeah well I'm sorry whoops


End file.
